Page 57 of Rookie Move
He gave his head a slow shake. “Nope. Just not my day. And I can’t afford to have days like that. Not even one.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. No matter how confusing it was to have Leo around, she wanted him to have his chance.
“Where are we headed, anyway?” He held the hotel’s front door open for both her and Castro. “Some photography studio?”
“Nope. The rink. These are going to be action shots.”
Leo scratched his chin, which was sporting a delectable amount of scruff. “Like, in the locker room?”
“Probably,” Georgia hedged. She didn’t really know what the photographer had in mind, but they were about to find out.
The three of them got into the waiting limo. “There’s only twelve months in the year,” Castro pointed out. “And thirty NHL teams. Are they seriously going to use two of us? Or am I going to get cut in favor of pretty boy here.”
“Better to be cut from a beefcake calendar than from the team,” Leo pointed out.
“True.” Castro chuckled.
“That’s probably why there’s two of us,” he grumbled. “In case one of us gets sent down before this thing goes to print.”
“That’s the spirit,” Georgia said, poking him in the knee. His muscular knee...Focus, Georgia. But it was hard to mentally keep her distance when they were in the same vehicle together.
It was a short limo ride, thankfully. They showed their Bruisers IDs to the security guard at the stadium door, and a staff member led them through the bowels of the arena to the visitors’ dressing room, where the photographer and her two assistants waited.
“I’m Gloria,” the photographer said. She was a stocky woman with a beautiful face, a dozen earrings, and a militant flattop. “You must be Georgia. Thank you for bringing me these two healthy hunks of man meat.”
“Um...” Georgia sputtered.
“I’m Castro,” the player said, holding out his hand. “How do you want this to work?”
The photographer sized him up from head to toe and up again. “Nice,” she said. Then she turned to Leo and did the same. “Okay, let’s start on the ice itself. You’ve got your skates, right? Follow me.” She pushed through to the chute door and led them down to the visitors’ bench. “I’m going to set up, and then Gracie here will help you prep. I’ve got someone standing by to change the lighting.” Shewaved a hand vaguely toward the mezzanine level. “So who’s first?”
“He is,” Castro said quickly, pointing at Leo.
“Aw, hell,” Leo grumbled.
“Okay.” The photographer rubbed her hands together. “I want to put you on the rink in nothing but your skates.”
“Brrr,” Castro said, cackling. “Things are gonna be shrinking, then.”
Georgia bit her lip, and Leo scowled.
“You’ll be holding your helmet in a very strategic place,” the photographer continued. “The shot will be sensual, but not pornographic.”
“Good to know,” Leo said under his breath.
“Stop your whining,” the photographer said with a grin. “I’m going to make you look like a super stud. Now drop trou and my helpers will get you oiled up.”
Leo spoke up. “Um, why the oil?”
“You have toglow. Look at this.” The photographer took a binder out of the side of her giant camera bag and handed it to Leo, who flipped it open to a spread in the middle.
Everyone went silent, because they’d all misjudged the photographer. She was a freakingartist. These shots showed a series of football players posing in various sporty locations—a locker room, lounging on bleachers, or standing on turf at night, the stadium lights illuminating their sculpted bodies. They had a surprisingly ethereal quality, each image a moody masterpiece. The light played over each man’s musculature, making the athletes look like a race of superhumans.
“Whoa,” Georgia breathed.
Castro snickered. “Somebody’s a fan.”
Georgia stepped back quickly, hoping she wasn’t drooling on herself. “Stop. You can get any girl in America with one of these shots. Don’t pretend that doesn’t interest you.”
